


Beloved

by photonromance



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Nightmares, Possessive Behavior, Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 21:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/photonromance/pseuds/photonromance
Summary: Old Hannibal Kink Fill from Tumblr: Will sees a monster in the mirror. Fortunately, or perhaps, unfortunately, Hannibal knows monsters.





	Beloved

They’re dead, not coming for him. He’s never worried about they getting him. He’s worried about him getting them. He knows it’s a dream, knows Hannibal kissed him goodnight not so long ago, pulled the blankets up around his shoulders before lying down himself. But it feels so real. His hands are hot with blood, slick and dripping. There’s a knife in his hands, a wicked silver thing and it’s Abigail’s throat under his hands, pulse fluttering against his palm. The blade is sharp and her skin fairly blooms open beneath the edge. She gasps and gasps and Will holds her tight while she bleeds over his fingers and down her lovely white dress.

He wakes up screaming.

Hands close around his shoulders. They’re familiar enough he slumps into their hold. “Hannibal.” He pants, hands rising enough to hook over Hannibal’s shoulder. “Tell me you’re real,” He pleads into Hannibal’s sleep shirt, “Please be real.”

Though Will’s shirt is soaked with sweat, Hannibal holds him close. “Of course I’m real, pet.” He murmurs, the name only slipping in the dark. Will burrows into his warmth, nuzzling into his throat to find the warm scent of him. “Do you want to talk about it?” Will shakes his head and Hannibal kisses his hair. 

The touch is light. Not nearly enough. 

Will looks up at him and Hannibal’s eyes are darker than they ought to be. “I’m afraid.” He whimpers. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to admit to any of it. But Hannibal will reward compliance. “I’m afraid of myself. Of going crazy and doing something horrible.” He shivers and chokes on a sob, “I’m afraid I’ll enjoy it.” 

“Go change your shirt and come back to bed.” Hannibal orders softly. 

Reluctantly, Will does as he’s told. The hardwood is cold and his feet are bare as he strips off his shirt and goes to the closet instead of the dresser. He returns in one of Hannibal’s white shirts, buttoned almost to the collar, the cuffs open and almost swallowing his hands. It smells like him, is pressed and crisp and so very _Hannibal_. Will crawls back into bed and when he tries to cuddle close, desperate for the contact, Hannibal maneuvers them gently so he’s tucked under Hannibal’s chin, wrapped in warmth. He wraps one arm around Will’s waist and tugs him just that little bit closer. They’re both silent a few minutes. 

When it’s obvious Will is not going to sleep, Hannibal slips his hand under the shirt to rest a broad palm over Will’s belly. “I’m so lucky to have you, William.” Hannibal murmurs against Will’s curls. His hand begins these small, soothing strokes over the softness of Will’s belly, trailing away before returning for more. Like he can’t get enough. 

“I’m only glad you put up with me.” Will murmurs, whimpering into the comfort, “I’m a monster, you know.” 

“No, Will,” Hannibal whispers against him, “Not a monster. Not at all.” He presses a damp, open mouthed kiss to Will’s forehead, following with smaller kisses down his temple, his jaw. “You’re a precious young man, Will.” Hannibal murmurs against his lips, “You cannot hide from me, cannot deceive me.” 

When Will sobs, it rips though his entire body in a painful jerk. “Stop.” He pleads brokenly, “Please don’t.” 

“I can see you clearly, completely, and you are beautiful.” Hannibal holds him tighter, his grip threatened as Will pushes against his chest. 

“Hannibal, I- I’m not-” 

“You are!” His voice, usually carefully articulated, goes harsh, his accent sharp, “Will, you’re the last pure thing I have left in this world and I will not permit you to believe anything less.” 

Hannibal wrestles Will to his back, pinning his wrists in broad hands, his body with his weight. Will hiccups, tears leaving wet trails down his cheeks. He won’t meet Hannibal’s eyes. It doesn’t matter. Hannibal kisses him thoroughly, forcing his mouth open to take and devour. He consumes until there is nothing left of Will but trembling submission.   
When he lets up, Will is panting, his mouth red and swollen. Hannibal does not speak. He waits patiently for Will to catch his breath. When he’s ready, Will raises his eyes. Hannibal watches him darkly. 

“You are mine.” He says softly, firmly, “You are perfect, pure and unbroken.” 

Will does not argue, only lets it wash over him. 

“You are tender and sweet and all mine, Will. I own you. And I will only have the best.” Hannibal regards him. “Say it.” He does not need to elaborate. 

“I-” Will chokes, “I’m yours.” 

“You are mine.” Hannibal releases one of Will’s wrists to cup his throat, thumb brushing against his chin, “You are pure and beautiful. You are loved and wanted. You are mine. Repeat.” 

Will opens his eyes, shining with tears, and meets Hannibal’s gaze.

“Hannibal-”

“Repeat.”

His lips are pink and plush and he whispers, “I am p-pure and- and beautiful. I am- loved. A-and wanted. I’m yours.” 

“Louder.” 

Will raises his voice a bare few decibels and repeats himself. 

“Again!” 

“I am pure and beautiful!” Will shouts, arching against Hannibal as he cries, “I am loved and wanted! I. am. yours!” 

Will collapses to the sheets and Hannibal falls with him, crushing him with heat. “That’s it, Will.” He soothes, drawing Will close, “That’s it. You’ve done perfectly. You did it.” Will cuddles into him, desperate for the comfort. “I love you, Will. You know that, don’t you?” 

Will nods, following with a hoarse, “Yes” for good measure. “I love you, too.” 

“That’s my boy.”


End file.
